


You've Become My Ceiling

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: BPD Kent, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Relationships, Food mention, Grief/Mourning, Hate Sex, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Trans Kent, Trans Male Character, Wakes & Funerals, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-13 04:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11751855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: The obituary said he went out like he lived, fearlessly and with a hearty fuck you. It just didn’t seem real that the world would never hear from Shitty Knight again.





	You've Become My Ceiling

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [OMGCP_Heartbreak_Fest_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/OMGCP_Heartbreak_Fest_2017) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Characters/Pairings: any  
> Prompt Details: The obituary said he went out like he lived, fearlessly and with a hearty fuck you. It just didn’t seem real that the world would never hear from Shitty Knight again.  
> Additional Info: Shitty dies at 28 (how is up to you). The gang reconvenes after years apart for his funeral in Boston. Bonus points for a ship that hasn’t seen each other in a while. Bonus points for delving into Shitty’s not so great life (even more if you show how he was the glue holding SMH together).  
> Squicks:  
> Maximum Rating: M
> 
> thanks again to [polyamorousparson](https://polyamorousparson.tumblr.com/) for being the most wonderful beta ever

2021

They crash through the front door of Kent’s apartment. Jack shuts the door without taking his lips off Kent’s. They’re walking slowly through the living room, Kent’s fingernails digging into Jack’s shoulders. Jack growls, finally picking him up, supporting his thighs as Kent wraps his legs around Jack’s waist.

Jack walks them toward the bedroom, his hands never leaving Kent’s ass. The door is already open. He kicks his shoes off. He hears something crash behind him, and assumes it’s Kent slipping his shoes off as well. He practically throws Kent down on the bed.

“Strip,” he barks before pulling off his own t-shirt.

They don’t do foreplay, so they’re ripping their clothing off quickly by themselves. It’s almost a competition between them at this point. It’s not about connecting with someone or making them feel good. For them, this is about rage, passion, and unresolved tension. They strip each other bare from the inside out.

It’s not productive, or even healthy. It’s just what they do.

When Jack turns around, Kent’s already naked. He’s rubbing slow circles into his dick.

“Don’t come before me,” Jack complains.

“Not like you can get me off,” Kent says as he rolls his eyes.

Jack huffs. He swats Kent lightly so he’ll get into the middle of the bed, and he kneels in front of Kent.

“Fine, I’m eating you out first this time,” Jack says.

He gets situated, lying down on the bed to get a good angle. “Why don’t you fucking shave?”

“Don’t want to, and who gives a fuck,” Kent growls. “Not like I tell you to shave.”

“You have!”

“Less talking, more swiping,” he orders impatiently.

Jack rolls his eyes, grabbing Kent’s butt cheeks for leverage as he finds the right angle to go down on him. He starts mouthing letters with his tongue against Kent’s dick.

“E, e, e,” Kent whines after a while.

Jack digs in a little harder. He shifts to one side so he can get a finger into Kent’s entrance. He’s already dripping wet. Jack slides his long middle finger in, stroking Kent from the inside.

Kent whimpers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I fucking hate you.”

“Want me to stop?” Jack chirps.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Kent growls. “Fuck, stick your tongue down there.”

“What do we say?”

“Please, you asscunt,” Kent whispers.

Jack obliges, digging his tongue in far enough to feel Kent’s inner walls.

“Thumb on my dick,” he orders.

Jack flicks the hood of Kent’s dick a few times before mimicking the counterclockwise motions Kent was doing earlier.

“Fuck, really close, fuck, faster,” Kent rasps.

He shoves his tongue as far into Kent as he can, rubbing Kent’s dick faster as he ruts against the bed for friction. After a minute, Kent’s walls spasm around his tongue. He pulls out slowly, giving Kent’s dick a few more gentle swirls.

Kent pushes up from the bed, kissing him fiercely. Jack melts, hands gripping Kent’s biceps too tightly. He knows this is nothing personal. Kent likes being able to taste himself on Jack’s tongue. It’s like some twisted quality assurance test that Jack did his job well.

“What do you want?” Kent murmurs against his lips.

“Grab the strap on,” Jack says.

“Which one?”

“Purple,” Jack murmur.

Kent laughs. “Knew you liked the ridges.”

“Fuck off,” Jack says.

“Already did,” Kent chirps.

Jack falls back against the bed. In a few hours, they’ll be all out of fuck unconscious on this bed. Not long after that, either Jack will sneak away or Kent will yell at him to get out.

It’s the system they have. It works for them. They stay out of each other’s way as much as possible and fuck each other raw when being around each other gets to be too much. If they hurt each other before or after slipping into Kent’s bed, then that’s just a casualty of their arrangement.

“Bits said to remind you not to be late to brunch tomorrow,” Kent says when he emerges from his closet.

“I’m invited to that, eh?”

“Duh,” Kent says. “Why’d you think I told you about it last week?”

“To be an ass,” Jack supplies.

“That’s your job,” Kent argues.

“Bite me, Parse,” Jack says defiantly.

Kent smirks. “With pleasure.”

_/.\\_

2020

Jack gets a call on a Tuesday. The caller ID says Larissa Duan (SMH), and he stares in confusion for a minute. He doesn’t remember changing her contact to something other than Lardo. He doesn’t remember the last time they talked, either. It has to be around three years or so.

He presses accept before he loses his nerve. “Hello?”

He hears quiet sobs.

“Larissa?”

“Jack—” her voice cuts off into something like a choking sound.

“Lardo!” he shouts.

There’s some jostling and a crashing sound on the other line. It takes a moment, but the phone scrapes against something and thumps softly against something, presumably a face.

“Hey,” Kent’s voice comes through clear as day.

“What do you want?” Jack tries to say as neutrally as possible.

“He’s dead,” Kent says, clear as day.

Jack doesn’t know who ‘he’ is, but this feeling in the pit of his stomach reminds him it was Lardo’s phone Kent was talking through.

“Shits is dead, Jack,” he clarifies. “Funeral’s in three days. Think you can make it?”

Part of Jack wants to tell him to fuck off, wants desperately to be a sick joke. The one thing Jack knows about Kent anymore is he doesn’t joke about death.

“Earth to Jack Zimmermann,” Kent says coldly.

“Email me the information,” Jack says finally. “I’ll be there.”

“Swawesome,” Kent says before hanging up.

Jack briefly wonders why Kent’s picked up the word swawesome. On some level, he remembers that Kent plays for the Bruins now. It doesn’t make any sense to him. He decides to do the only logical thing, and make a phone call.

_Hey this is Bartholomew Knight. I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave me your digits and tell me where’s the fire. Thanks._

“Are you there? Why is Kent with Lardo? Shits, where are you?” Jack rasps.

An hour later he’s emailed the invitation to Shitty’s funeral. Kent doesn’t call back to say this is all some sick joke.

He never jokes about death, after all.

_/.\\_

2021

Jack whimpers as he’s on all fours underneath Kent. Kent thrusts the strap-on deeper into him. He pants, reaching over Jack’s hip to give a few strokes to his dick. He holds back a whimper as he feels the other end of the strap on move inside of him.

He hears Jack mumble something in front of him.

“What’s up?” Kent asks.

“Can you just—”

“What?”

“Go in all the way and,” Jack moans, cutting himself off as Kent rolls his thumb gently over the head of his dick.

“And what?” Kent asks, trying to suppress his grin.

“Give me a real fucking hand job?”

Kent sighs. “Fine,” he says.”

He shifts closer, making Jack take the rest of his silicone dick. Kent eases himself onto Jack because he remembers how much he likes the added weight. He sticks three of his fingers in his mouth, getting them nice and wet before gripping Jack’s dick. He strokes its head with his thumb. His other hand reach around the other side to grab hold of Jack’s shaft.

“Use the fucking lube,” Jack complains. He reaches out to the pillow, tossing the bottle back to Kent.

Kent squirts a good amount onto his right hand. He grazes the base of Jack’s dick, gliding up to the head.

“Harder, faster,” Jack says.

He complies readily. He savors the way Jack’s abdomen tenses against his fingers. He adds his left hand for extra grip. It takes Jack a few seconds before he comes with a loud moan. Kent gives him a few more strokes before letting go.

“Keep it down,” Kent says as he pulls out of Jack. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

“Your neighbors are Lardo and Holster,” Jack reminds him. “What does it matter?”

“I’d like to keep this on the DL, asswipe,” Kent says as he throws a washcloth at Jack’s face.

Jack laughs. “I’m pretty sure they know.”

“No they don’t,” Kent snaps.

“Yea we do,” two shouts come from the other side of his bedroom wall.

“Stop eavesdropping,” Kent shouts.

“Find a fuck buddy quieter than Jack fucking Zimmermann,” Holster chirps.

“We’re not fuck buddies,” Jack and Kent yell.

“Fuck frenemies, whatever,” Lardo says. “Kent, we’re starting the movie in ten, are you coming or not?”

“Fuck yea,” Kent says with a grin.

But then he looks at Jack, who’s getting dressed like a moping asshole, and decides to do something about it. Because he’s an idiot.

“You’re coming with, right?” Kent asks.

Jack glares at him. “What?”

“C’mon, it’s a historical drama. Right up your boring alley,”

“It’s a music biopic,” Holster retorts.

“Even better,” Kent says evenly. “C’mon, what else do you have to do on a Thursday night other than hang out with your friends?”

“You’ll be there,” Jack chirps dryly.

Kent snorts, trying to suppress a chuckle. “Pretend like I’m not there, asshole.”

“Sounds hard,” Jack says.

“That’s what he said,” Lardo shouts.

He watches Jack walk out of the room first, taking a second to breathe. Sometimes the line between hate fucking and having the same friend group blurs way too much for Kent’s liking. But Shitty would’ve wanted it this way. Kind of. He’d want the part where Jack was back in the fold and Kent wasn’t feeling sorry for himself like a sap.

At least he can make one of those things possible.

_/.\\_

2020

The obituary says he went out like he lived, fearlessly and with a hearty fuck you. It just doesn’t seem real that the world would never hear from Shitty Knight again. Jack shows up to a small church in Boston in a suit more expensive than Bittle’s first three paychecks. He remembers, they had an argument about that.

They argued a lot back then.

It’s a small service. He recognizes a lot of Shitty’s family. Some people come over when they spot him, introducing themselves as Shitty’s coworkers or just as fans of Jack. Someone taps his shoulder from behind. He turns slightly, finding Ransom with a small smile.

“Hey, man, good to see you,” Ransom says amicably. “Glad you could make it.”

Jack offers a handshake. “Yea, you too. It’s been a while.”

Ransom snorts. “It’s hard to get over here too often from Seattle.”

“How is it?”

“Pretty good, honestly,” he says with a shrug. “Hey, have you seen Adam around?”

Jack frowns. “I assumed he came with you.”

Ransom shakes his head, smirking. “You really lost touch with everyone, didn’t you?”

“You can say that again,” Bittle says behind them.

He walks past them gracefully. He’s wearing the same suit he wore to Ransom’s graduation. His bowtie isn’t as awful as the one Jack remembers from that day. His undercut suits him more now that he has facial hair. It isn’t a lot, but it’s enough to remind Jack that they’ve grown over the years—separately, alone.    

“Gentlemen, please go find seats,” Bitty says in a smooth tone. “The service is starting soon.”

Jack and Ransom shrug at each other, following Bitty to a pew where Lardo and Kent are already sitting down. Holster slips in on the other side of Lardo a minute later. He puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes tightly.

There’s a bit of a service. A pastor says some things about life and divine plans we can’t fully understand as humans. Jack doesn’t pay much attention. He’s sure this was Shitty’s father putting on a show more than anything. At some point, Johnson sits down next to Jack.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Johnson murmurs.

“Neither can I,” Jack says honestly.

“I mean, who’s going to chirp me for ruining their day with a bad joke?” Johnson asks. “Who’s going to rag on me for not calling him with Netflix recommendations?”

“I miss him too,” Jack tells him. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud.

Johnson taps him lightly, pointing to the front of the room. Kent’s walking to a podium with notecards in his hand. When he gets there, he taps the mic once lightly.

“Thanks for coming,” he says with the slightly twitch of his lips. “I know this isn’t where anyone wants to be on a Saturday. Uh, he told me once that ‘funerals are for the living so do whatever the fuck you want at mine.’ Which is why we’re in a church and not a coffee shop in Amsterdam.”

There’s a chorus of quiet laughter. Jack sighs, realizing there’s no turning back now. He has to hear his former best friend talk about, well, his other former best friend.

“Um, I’m sure you’re all curious about what happened,” Kent says.

Jack can’t see his hands behind the podium, but he knows Kent hunches over when he trembles. Just like he is now.

“Honestly, I don’t fucking know,” he continues. “It wasn’t a freak accident. It wasn’t some terminal illness he decided to hide from everyone. I just—woke up one morning and there he was, lying in a pool of his own blood.”   

He can hear Shitty’s mom crying hysterically a few rows ahead of them.

Kent looks down at his notecards. He purses his lips. He looks up at the audience. His gaze finds Jack.

“You know I’d love to stand up here and talk about how amazing he is, but you already know that,” Kent says. “You only needed to be around him for five fucking minutes to know he was the friendliest, most welcoming guy ever. He tried his fucking hardest in everything he did. He wouldn’t want us sobbing here over him. He’d wants us to go out there and make a goddamn difference.”

He clears his throat before leaning in a little closer. “He was too busy saving the rest of the world to save himself. Don’t—don’t think like that. Go, save yourselves. He’ll be pissed if he sees you again too soon.”   

Kent gets down from the podium. Shitty’s mom goes up and reads his favorite poem. Lardo talks for a solid minute about how there will never be another Shitty Knight in existence.

“Cherish who you have before they’re gone,” she says. “Stop pretending they’ll be there tomorrow where you left them, because they won’t. Don’t let stupid shit get in the way of your happiness. Don’t, please fucking don’t, think there’s only one way to be. Go live your truth. Just do it your way.”

The reception afterward is in Lardo’s apartment. Nursey asks at one point what’s going to happened to all of Shitty’s stuff.

“Half of it is here,” Lardo says. Holster hasn’t let go of her the entire time they’ve been here.

She nods her head in Kent’s direction. He’s standing on the other side of the room talking with Bitty, Farmer, and Shitty’s mom.

“He’s got the rest of it,” she says.

“What’s he going to do about...you know,” Dex asks.

“We’re helping him find another place,” she says with a sigh. “He’s been crashing here ever since.”

 _Why?_ Jack thinks to himself.

“If I had to guess, Jack,” Lardo’s voice is poignant and resigned. “If I had to find someone I loved dead, and then I had to do it again ten years later, I’d be pretty fucked up too.”

“I didn’t die,” he corrects.

Holster nods, and Jack can hear the “cool story, bro” on the tip of his tongue. Nursey throws an arm around Jack’s shoulders.

“Anyway,” Nursey says all too casually. “How’ve you been, man? It’s been forever since we’ve seen you.”

“Oh, well,” Jack stammers. “I’ve been, eugh, just playing hockey.”

“C’mon, Jackie Z,” Nursey chirps. “That can’t be everything. Give us a taste of the celeb life.”

Jack tries not to think about how much Nursey sounds like Shits. Come to think of it, he never bothered to ask if Shitty taught Nursey how to speak like that or if it was the other way around.

“Don’t hold your breath, Derek,” Bitty says with a side-eye glare, clearly eavesdropping. “He lives and breathes hockey. You’re better off pretending to interview him than you are asking how he is.”

Jack grimaces, partly because it’s true. But also because it’s been years since he was on the receiving end of Bittle’s disdain.

“Shits said he got a dog,” Kent says quietly. “That’s something.”

He never told Shitty he got a dog. It was just something he posted on his PR mandated Instagram accounts. Jack surprises even himself on how little he’s kept in contact with everyone.

A phone rings, pulling Jack out of his musings.

“Yea hang on,” Dex says. “Chris is ten minutes away. PR reshot some of his clips.”

“Another reason to hate the Islanders,” Bitty and Kent say together. Only Kent imitates Bitty’s accent. They smile at each other sadly.

Jack feels like he’s in an alternate reality. One where he doesn’t fit anymore. But Nursey talking him up about playing the Bruins (“Kent’s team”) in the home opener. Dex is talking to him about his stats from last season, and how does being a Stanley Cup champ feel?

It’s disappointing, he wants to say. But instead, he smiles just enough to be believable. “It’s good. I worked hard for it.”

“You really did,” Ransom says.

“We’re proud of you,” Holster adds.

Jack tries not to think about how the last time they were all in a room together, he and Bittle broke up the next day. Shitty’s dead, and all of Jack’s friends have moved on.

The grief doesn’t hit Jack until later.

_/.\\_

2021

The Bruins lose to the Falcs and Kent’s mouth is on Jack’s neck before they even leave TD Garden. He sucks long enough to leave a whole cluster of hickeys on Jack’s neck.

“You trying to get me chirped to death, Parse?”

“A little,” Kent says distractedly. “Fucking douchebag ref. You crossed the goalie line,  you fucking cheat.”

“Says the kettle,” Jack replies.

Kent backs away, glaring. “Are you still fucking on that?! That was five fucking years ago!”

“Maybe if you weren’t a dirty player—”

“Maybe if you stopped treating me like a fucking child—”

“Stop acting like one! Fucking thirty year old—”

“Twenty nine, asshat—”

“Can’t even go to therapy like an adult,” Jack says.

“I’ve been going!”

“Yea, sure,” he says incredulously.

Kent slams harshly on the center console. “I don’t need our lord and savior Jack fucking Zimmermann to give me a sermon on how his flavor of fucked up is holier than mine!”

Jack rubs his temple. “I hate you so fucking much. I’m not some fucking god—”

“Could’ve fooled me with your perpetual high and mighty routine,” Kent says.

“It’s called being an adult. Kent,” he says. “Maybe try it sometime instead of being a fucking lunatic.”

“Says the man who fucking rose from the dead on the third day!”

“Don’t go there,” Jack warns.

Kent slinks back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Your turn.”

Jack doesn’t have to be told twice. “You think you’re the only who’s still fucked up about old shit, is that it? The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you Kent.”

“You’ve told me that a million times,” Kent snaps.

“No I haven’t—”

“Yes you have!” He booms. “Do you have any idea what it’s like being seventeen and having the love of your life tell you every other fucking day that you’re shitty? Do you have any idea what it’s like to want to like yourself when someone is constantly telling you to shut up or stop making a scene?!”

“That’s—”

“I have fucking BPD, Jack! Of course I’m going to apologize for making a fucking scene but it’s not your job to make me feel even shittier about it!”

Kent stops and takes a deep breath. “No, it’s still your turn, keep going.”     

“We can st—”

“No, it’s your turn,” Kent says as he rubs his temple. He leans against his window. “That’s the deal. Won’t interrupt this time, promise.”

Jack huffs. “I’m so sick of tip toeing around your feelings. You have no idea what it’s like to never be normal.”

Kent snorts.

“Fine, maybe you do. But you got a fucking childhood, Parse. You got relatives and family traditions and to see your mom every fucking day.”

“You got a dad,” he counters.

“He wasn’t—you know what he was like before the draft,” Jack says.

Kent nods.

“How is that better? How is my life fucking perfect compared to yours? When will you fucking let me have my own problems?!”

Kent sighs.

“Answer the question,” Jack demands.

“So what? Me doing shit for you was a bad thing? You wanted your problems so badly that I fucked you up? Doing your homework, telling you to go to therapy, making you whatever the fuck you wanted to eat when I could barely stand to feed myself?” Kent groans shutting his eyes tightly. “You’re right, sorry. A doesn’t equal fucking B. Maybe if I didn’t try to control your life—”

“No,” Jack cuts him off.

“No what?”

“Don’t do this,” Jack says. “We’re not apologizing to each other.”

“Then what the fuck is all of this for Jack?”

“I hate you, and you hate me,” he says curtly. “You’re just here to get me off.”

Kent says nothing as they pull into the parking garage of his building. He pulls Jack almost all the way up the back stairs to his floor. He got a small place when he moved to Boston because he wasn’t planning on staying here long. He didn’t want to buy somewhere big and permanent when every inch of this town screams that he’s a traitor.

They get to his bedroom. He takes Jack’s pants off quickly, not bothering with his own clothes. Jack sits on the bed as Kent sits on the carpet in front of him. No kissing, no gentle fucking this time. He starts by licking a stripe up Jack’s dick. He caresses Jack’s balls carefully, lifting them enough to get to his perineum. His tongue circles the rim of Jack’s hole carefully, tracing all the way up to the sack. He opens his mouth wide enough to take them both in. He massages them with his tongue, rolling them wet and gently. Jack shivers.

Kent smirks as he grabs lube from his night stand. He coats his ring finger thickly.

“How many fingers?”

“One for now,” Jack says.

“What else? Relax for me,” he instructs as he pats Jack’s thigh.

“I want you to fuck me with your mouth,” Jack says. He leans back as Kent starts to work his finger into Jack’s hole.

“Teasing or all the way,” Kent asks.

“Whatever you want,” Jack rasps, his head thrown back as Kent wiggles in deeper.

“Want me to just keep this or do you wanna be fucked?”

“Fucked,” Jack says. “Another finger too.”

“Say please,” Kent says.

“Please,” Jack whines.

Kent grabs the lube, squirting some on his middle finger as he pulls his other finger out. He works them both in slowly. He slides them out half way before shoving them back up. Jack moans quietly.

Finally, Kent puts his mouth on Jack’s dick. He starts by circling his circumcised foreskin, making patterns as he licks from side to side. He takes one full lick from the base to the top. Jack mutters something in French as Kent softly jabs his tongue into the tip of the head. He can already taste the precum.

He takes a deep breath, relaxing the back of his throat as he swallows Jack whole. Jack makes a small thrust as his groans, and Kent gets him back into his throat before he starts to move. He finds an even rhythm, pulling his head up and as he slides the finger in Jack’s ass out. The movements are quick but efficient. He smirks to himself as Jack’s dick gets harder.

His tongue slides roughly against Jack’s shaft. His free hand finds itself on Jack’s stomach, caressing it gently. His fingers trail up Jack’s torso until they find a nipple, and he rubs it tentatively, perking it up. He squeezes it a few times before twisting. Jack keeps lifting his hips to get further into Kent.

This is Kent’s symphony, a culmination in being an expert in all things Jack Zimmermann. He works in perfect harmony for a few minutes before he feels Jack’s dick pulse in his mouth. He feels something slide down his throat as he slowly pulls out. He gets the smallest drop of cum on his tongue. It’s proof enough that he did this. That it’s real.

He takes his fingers out last. Jack pulls him up, kissing him harshly. He feels his pants being slipped off him. Next thing he knows, he’s being pulled into Jack’s lap as his shirt is slowly unbuttoned for him. He shifts himself so he can grind against Jack’s dick. He thinks he could come just from the warmth of Jack’s mouth on his neck.

Jack will get him off and then tell him to go home. They’ll go about their days tomorrow as if nothing ever happened. Kent won’t cry himself to sleep because he hates Jack Zimmermann. He hates everything about him.

He hates the way sucking him off feels so good; feels like he’s being choked by his own emotions. He hates the way Jack smiles when Kent actually gets a play right. He hates the way he falls asleep some nights thinking _I wish you could’ve tried to kill me instead of yourself_.

He hates the way it feels like he’s lying every time he says “I hate you” out loud. He hates the way all of this yelling feels like it’s doing everything and nothing at the same time.

“Go home,” he tells Jack before Jack can get him off.

“What?”

“I just—go, I hate you so much I can’t look at you right now,” Kent tells him.

Jack gathers his things as Kent curls into bed by himself.

It’s for the best, really.

Really.

_/.\\_   

2020

After the funeral, Holster mentions some kayaking trip they’re doing in a few weeks.

“You should come,” Holster says as he scratches the back of his neck. “We’ve got an open spot.”

Jack laughs in spite of himself. He’s never been second choice to a dead guy before. He reminds himself that it wasn’t just some guy. It was Shitty. He remembers when they were Frogs, and Shitty was everything he wished he could be. That guy would’ve gone on some crazy trip with his friends. Maybe he could still be that guy, somehow.

The next weekend he shows up at an address in Newburyport. There’s two cars already parked in front. One is Kent’s Volkswagen Beetle, and the other is a Jeep. He assumes it's Lardo’s by the fact that she’s hopping out of the driver’s seat.

He takes a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he stalls. It shouldn’t be this hard to want to hang out with old friends. He should be happy instead of nervous and pessimistic. But last week, nothing made him feel like he belongs. This week it seems like he’s destined to fill the hole Shits left behind until someone else can fill it or they get sick of him. Maybe he should go back to therapy.

Holster knocks on his window, startling him. Jack rolls the window down.

“You coming?” Holster asks with a grin.

“I don’t know, still want me here?” Jack asks honestly, trying to make a joke out of it.

Holster sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, Jack, you know you’re not my favorite person.”

“I had no idea,” Jack retorts sarcastically.

“See? At least I missed that fucking sense of humor,” he chirps. “We missed you, alright? Ransom lives on the other side of the fucking continent, and we hear from him more than you. We were all worried about you after...y’know, the break up.”

Jack frowns. “I didn’t know.”

“Duh,” Holster says, sticking his tongue out slightly. “Bro, we didn’t ‘pick sides’ or whatever. You chose that for yourself.”

He can’t remember when he stopped taking phone calls or when he blocked the groupchat, but it’d happened. Maybe part of him was too scared of letting them choose sides and finding out Bitty meant a lot more to them than Jack had.

He shrugs, not being able to come up with an adequate excuse.

“C’mon out, bro,” Holster says. “You can ride with me or Lards or Foxtrot if you want.”

“Foxtrot?”

“Oh, dude.” Holster balks. “Fucking get out here, no fucking way.”

Jack finally turns his engine off, getting dragged by Holster to Lardo’s car. Lardo’s talking with Kent and Bitty’s talking with a woman who Jack assumes is Foxtrot.

“Foxtrot, have you met this dude?” Holster gestures emphatically to Jack.

Foxtrot smiles tightly. “I’m twenty-three, Adam. I have a name.”

“Jessica, my light, my platonic love, have you met this hockey player?”

She rolls her eyes with a chuckle. “Maybe once? Hi, I’m Jessica Ford. I was the manager after Larissa.”

“Jack, ugh, Zimmermann. It’s nice to meet you,” he says as he offers a handshake. “I was the captain before Adam and Justin.”

“So we missed each other by a year, huh?”

“Yea, guess so,” he says.

“So this one,” Foxtrot says as she points to Bitty, “mentioned your mother is _the_ Alicia Lovette.”

“Yes,” he says awkwardly.

“So you’re kayaking with me,” she says, “and you’re going to tell me whatever you want about her. I don’t care if it’s what she ate for breakfast last week or about subtext of Mystic Pizza.”

He nods, slightly relieved that he doesn’t have to think about spending the afternoon with Bitty, who won’t stop glaring at him, or Kent, who won’t look him in the eye.

They take tandem kayaks around Plum Island. Holster keeps asking for song requests, and Lardo keeps giving him obscure bands that Jack’s never heard of.

“Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist,” Holster sings too loudly.

“Keep on loving and keep on fighting,” Lardo, Kent, Bitty, and Foxtrot chorus.

It takes Jack a minute to remember that was Shitty’s favorite song. They keep singing. He watches quietly.

“He said no you don’t wanna follow me. Where it is I’m going,” Kent sings. He laughs a little too hard. “He pulled out of the driveway.”

“That was the last time we saw him,” Bitty adds. “Cause he drove straight to his parents cabin.”

“And put a bullet in his head,” Lardo sings.

“What is this?” Jack interrupts.

Bitty glares. “We’re working through our grief, Jack Laurent.”

“Bits, calms your tits,” Lardo says. “Jack, Shits wouldn’t wants us moping. He’d want us celebrating him.”

“Which is why we have, like, so much weed and beer for camping tonight,” Holster says. “Now from the top.”

“Your heart is a muscle,” Foxtrot and Lardo sing.

“The size of your fist,” Bitty and Holster sing.

“Keep on loving and keep on fighting,” Kent says as he looks at Jack for the first time all day.

“And hold and hold on,” Jack says begrudgingly.

For Shits he’d endure this weird reality where Kent and Bitty are best friends and Lardo and Holster are dating. At least Foxtrot sympathetically gives him cues now and then as to what to do. The longer he’s around them, the more it sinks in that Shitty is not. This is the life he left behind. He wonders if there was anything Jack could’ve done to change that.

_/.\\_

2022

Jack’s fingers are in Kent as they try to share Jack’s recliner. They don’t normally do things here. It’s an unspoken rule. Only fuck at Kent’s place, and avoid talking about their _relationship_ (for lack of a better word) at all costs.Kent moves back and forth, feeling his dick throb as Jack’s fingers curl inside of him. He’s wet, which, the very thought of gets him even more so. Jack’s mouth is on his his nipple, sucking it roughly.

It makes Kent grin in a surreal way. Because they haven’t done this since the Q, since before his top surgery. It still feels good and his nipples look fucking great and Jack’s sucking on them.

Kent feels close.

“Thumb,” he rasps.

Jack moves his thumb so it can flick Kent’s dick. Kent spreads his knees as far as he can, taking as much of Jack’s hand as possible. Heat pools in his gut. He whimpers helplessly.

“What do you need?” Jack asks.

“Dirty talk,” Kent says.

“I ha—”

“No,” Kent interrupts. “Real dirty talk.”   

“You’re hot when you’re open for me like this,” Jack whispers. “Your dick is huge.”

Kent chuckles quietly. “Yea?”

“Yea, I can barely fit you in my mouth,” Jack says. “You’re so fucking big.”

“More,” he moans, “tell me more.”

“I’d let you bareback me any day. Your huge, swollen dick would split me apart.”

Kent grinds harder against Jack. He feels himself peaking.

“Come for me, Kenny,” Jack whispers into his ear.

Kent screams as he orgams.

He slumps against Jack’s shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment. Jack doesn’t move to push him off, and Kent doesn’t tell him he has to go. Eventually, Jack scoots to the back of the recliner. He nudges Kent swing his left leg to the other side of his lap. He sits on Jack’s lap, listening to his breathing.

“You ok?” Kent asks.  

“Yea,” he says.

Kent shifts away. “I can—”  

“No,” Jack says meeting his eyes for the first time since Kent arrived. “Stay.”

He nods, readjusting himself to hide his face in the crook of Jack’s neck.

“He loved you,” Jack says finally. “He really loved you.”

“Not as much as he loved you,” Kent murmurs.

“Does it matter?”

“Not anymore.”

If Kent feels something wet against his scalp, he assumes Jack won’t complain about his own neck getting damp.

“I’m going back to therapy,” Kent says finally.

“When?”

“I have a few appointments next week. Shopping around,” he says. “Trying to find someone before I lose my nerve again.”

“Smart,” Jack says. “He’d be proud of you.”

Kent snorts.

“You still angry with him?”

“You kidding? I fucking hate him,” Kent says. “He left me.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to,” Jack argues, as if they’re still talking about Shitty. “Maybe he just wanted everything to stop. It was a mistake.”

“Something being a mistake doesn’t make it magically ok,” he says curtly. “He was an impulsive perfectionist. He knew he could’ve asked for help. It wasn’t just me he left behind. What about Lardo? What about Bits? What about his mom?”  

“Ken—”

“I thought I did everything right this time,” Kent says, embarrassed as he trembles.   

Jack squeezes him tightly, running a hand up and down his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Kent says. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough to do what was best for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That stupid party back in ‘14,” he says.

“That was eight years ago,” Jack says.

“I’m still sorry,” Kent reiterates.

Jack shakes his head. “We’re not doing this.”

“You don’t have to accept my apology,” Kent says. “I’m just saying.”

“No,” Jack shakes his head. “I’m sick of hearing you apologize.”

Kent nods, pushing away from him. He yanks his underwear out from underneath Jack.

“What are you doing?”

“Going home,” Kent mutters. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Ken—”

“I really fucking hate you, Zimms,” Kent says with a vacant stare. “Let’s leave it at that before I hurt someone.”

_/.\\_

2020

Nathan, Jeff and Perry fly in a few days after the funeral. They spend that Monday clearing everything out of Kent’s old apartment. Kent has to stop a few times to cry or puke. Nathan keeps handing him snacks.

“I’m fine,” he insists.

“You’re not eating again,” Nathan says knowingly.

“I don’t—”   

“We can talk about this later,” Perry interrupts.

Kent sighs, nodding because he’s too worked up right now. They’re here to help. He’s been on edge for days now. He feels like he’s been disassociating a lot, and they know better than anyone what he’s like when he’s too wrapped up in himself.

Jeff calls the number of the cleaning service they were recommended. He says something about subletting it instead of cutting the contract short and footing the bill.

“I don’t care,” Kent admits. “It’s not that expensive.”

“Well, we do,” Jeff says. “You’re gonna want to see this place in a year. You know it.”

Kent nods. Jeff is always right.

They help him find an apartment the next day. He signs the new lease. He’s moved in before he knows it. Jeff and Nathan go back to Las Vegas because they’re needed. Perry stays a week or so, Kent doesn’t remember how long. Mainly, they let him sleep, cry, and puke when he needs to. Somedays are easier than others.

It isn’t like Jack. Shitty always wanted him. Shitty was kind and patient. Shitty said ‘I love you’ every chance he could. He was really dead.

Losing Shitty was so much worse.

Perry makes sure he eats and threatens to call his mom when he won’t even get up to shower.

“I will let you quit hockey and become a vegetable if you want,” Perry says at one point while trying to drag Kent out of bed.

“Good, thanks,” Kent says.

“No, not fucking good,” Perry snaps. “If you don’t play, you’re moving back home.”

“New York or Vegas?”

“Both, either,” Perry says. “I don’t care. You moved to Boston for him. Se murió, cariño.”

“I can’t,” he says. “I signed a contract, Per. I still have to play here.”

Perry sighs, crossing their arms. “Por cuanto tiempo?”

“Two more years,” Kent grumbles.

“Fine, we’ll play this by ear,” Perry relents. “But you’re calling every week.”

“Got it,” he says.

“And you’re going to therapy.”

“Fine…”

“Y por la amor de Dios, stay away from Zimmermann.”

“Fuck off, Perry,” Kent says. “I’ll talk to him when I’m dead.”

“As long as that’s not anytime soon, I’m cool with that,” they say, running a hand through Kent’s messy blonde locks.

“I worry about you all the time,” Perry says.

“Right back at ya,” he says.

“We’ll figure it out,” they assure him.

“Fuck yea we will,” he says as he tries not to cry again.

The next weekend, Perry heads out, leaving Kent in Bitty’s hands. Bitty drags Kent on that kayaking trip Shitty had planned two months ago. He tries not to look at Jack. He thinks the longer Jack is around the more he’ll start asking dumb questions like “why do you get to live and not him?”

He remembers a time when he prayed day and night, promising to never ask for anything again if Jack could just be ok. When Jack ruins their good time, Kent wonders if Shitty’s life was worth Jack’s redemption.

_/.\\_

2021

Lardo and Holster keep inviting him to things, and Jack keeps coming. He keeps fucking Kent in the interim. It’s crazy, but cathartic. It’s better sex than they ever had in the Q. He’s pretty sure that’s only partly because they’re in their thirties now. He even has a group chat with Jessica and her boyfriends, Connor and Tony.

Somehow, he’s slipped into a new life that doesn’t revolve around PR events and babysitting teammate’s kids. The only thing that leaves is Bittle. At this point, they can carry on a strained conversation decently enough. But it’s been years since they broke up. Jack thinks that if this is going to be his new normal, he should be ready for it. He texts Bitty for the first time in years on his birthday.

Jack: Happy Birthday.

Bits: Thanks.

Bits: I’m a little surprised, to be honest.

Jack: We’re friends, Bittle.

Jack: mostly

Bits: Mostly

Bits: Are you gonna tell me or should I guess?

Jack: Can we talk?

Bits: I wish you could see my face right now

Jack: in person

Bits: oh

Bits: I guess. What kind of talk are thinking of?

Jack: I need to apologize

Jack’s phone rings less than a minute later.

“I’m free tonight, my shift ends at six,” Bitty tells him without a hello.

“I thought you said you were closing,” he says, recalling his comment in their group chat last week.

“Jack, really? You know I hate my birthday.”

“Since when?”

“Since someone ruined it by breaking my heart,” Bitty says curtly.

“All the more reason to apologize,” he says.

“I’ll see you then,” Bitty says before hanging up.

Jack drives up to Boston before rush hour. He parks in Kent’s building because he has a space there, and walking to the bakery will help him kill some time. He still has enough time to walk around for a while. He almost hops on the T to visit Samwell because he’s so beside himself on what to do. It’s surreal not having hockey to throw himself into.

He thinks about visiting Harvard to see if he can feel Shitty in the way the sunlight bounces and trickles through the tree. It’s been almost a year. He wonders if Shitty’s out there somewhere. He wonders if he tried to talk to him, even once, would he listen?

Eventually, he’s killed a few hours and he heads over. Bitty’s waiting for him in front of the building, tapping furiously on his phone.

“Kent says warn him next time you use the extra spot,” Bitty says.

“Extra spot?”

Bitty glances at him. “Do you really think he pays extra on his rent just so you can go over and fuck him?”

Jack furrows his eyebrows. “You know about that?”

“Y’all aren’t necessarily subtle when you’re in a mood,” Bitty says as he starts walking, gesturing for Jack to follow. “I honestly can’t tell if y’all are really this horny or you can’t communicate functionally.”

“Me neither,” Jack admits.

Bitty snorts. “You should work on that.”

“I’m trying,” he says. “Speaking of which, I’m s—”

“Buy me a frappuccino first,” Bitty says. “It’s not like it’s my birthday or anything.”

Jack chuckles. They buy drinks and keep walking back toward Bitty’s studio apartment.

“Ok, I’m ready,” Bitty says.

“I’m sorry for everything, eugh, that happened between us."

“Keep talking.”

“I’m sorry my life...my career always came first,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t respect your life and needs as much as I should of. You were more than a SOAP. You were my partner. I should’ve supported you more.”  

Bitty hums as he takes a sip of his drink. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. It was really easy to feel like your career was the end all be all. I don’t know when I stopped living my life and...became the dressing in yours. I should’ve talked to you about it more instead of letting my resentment fester. I guess I had my head too filled with jam to think straight.”

Jack chuckles. “I remember the jam phase. It was...fun.”

Bitty snorts. “You missed cupcakes and peanut brittle.”

“Really?”

“I had to start exporting to Vegas, there was too much of the stuff,”

Jack stops in his tracks. “Vegas?”

Bitty quirks a brow. “Wow, y’all really don’t talk, huh? You don’t even know how long they were dating.”

“I don’t know anything about them.”

Bitty smiles sadly. “We ran into Kent at a bar in Boston. I wanted to tell him to fuck off. But then  I remembered we had one thing in common, you.”

Jack smirks.

“I swear they hooked up in the bathroom of that place.” Bitty smiles fondly. “They were loud and messy and none too subtle. Their love was big and spontaneous, just like them.”

“So them living together—”

“Old news,” Bitty says. “Kent moved out here two years ago. They were gonna see if they could make it work.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say. Shits and Kent were really together. They’d been in love, and he didn’t know until the aftermath.

Bitty swallows thickly next to him. “He was gonna marry that boy. Shitty asked me to go ring shopping with him. He was so scared Kent would never know how much he loved him.”

“What happened?” he finds himself thinking outloud.

“I don’t know,” Bitty says with a strangled voice. “I don’t think we ever will.”

He puts a hand on Bitty’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

“I’m sorry, Bits,” Jack says quietly. “He was your friend too.”

“My best friend, Jack,” Bitty corrects. “He was my best friend. No one seems to remember that.”

“Kent does,” Jack assures him. “And no pressure, but I think if anything happens to you or Lards or Foxtrot, it will literally kill him.”

“That isn’t funny,” Bitty says with a sniffle. “Anyway, he doesn’t have to worry about me. I’ve got other people for that. He just has to keep himself together.”

“You do, Bits,” Jack says with small grin.

It’s not perfect. They still fumble when Jack asks how Ransom’s doing. But it’s a start.

_/.\\_

2022

The Bruins get knocked out the first round of the playoffs by the Falcs. Kent’s waiting in front of Jack’s car when he gets out of showers and interviews. He walks straight up to Kent, who’s leaning against the driver’s door.

Without thinking, Jack cups Kent’s face with his hands, kissing him. Kent just as easily wraps his arms around Jack’s neck. They make out against the car for a few minutes. Jack’s freshly showered body clings to his suit, tightening even more as he feels his dick throbbing.

Kent chuckles, grinding strategically against Jack. “Boston’s calling.”

“My place is closer,” Jack mumbles. “C’mon.”

He feels Kent tense for a second, yet he nods. It takes them twenty minutes to get to Jack’s place. He carries Kent as they resume kissing. Thank fuck for second floor apartments and back stairwells.

He sets Kent down once they’re in the apartment. They unbutton jackets and shirts in between kisses. Kent laughs when Jack cups one of his butt cheeks. Jack goes in for another kiss. It’s tender and warm. It scares the fuck out of him how badly he wants this.

“Race you,” Kent says when they’re both naked.

He bolts toward the bedroom, but Jack easily catches up. He all but tackles Kent onto the bed. Kent rolls over so he’s lying on his back, and he’s laughing uncontrollably. Jack smirks before leaning down to kiss him. He pulls Jack down onto him, causing the bed to creak from the sudden extra weight.

Jack moves to suck on a hickey he’d created two days prior.

“Stop,” Kent admonishes. “That’s already dark as shit.”

“But what about this one,” Jack says before he moves to one he’d made the week before.

“Pick somewhere new,” he retorts. “Better yet, find somewhere where I don’t have to use fucking concealer. My wallet can’t take more fines.”

Jack doesn’t point out that his season is officially over. He also doesn’t remind Kent that he of all people should know how territorial he gets. Instead, he sucks on one of Kent’s nipples, knowing how much that drives him crazy. He not too subtly runs a hands between Kent’s thighs.

“Fuck, fuck,” Kent gasps. “Ok you’re gonna have to—like—do loads more than that, pal.”

Jack nods, reaching for his nightstand drawer.

“What are you doing?” Kent asks.

“Getting a condom.”

“No.”

Jack frowns, “you told me—”

“Yea it’s not that,” Kent interrupts him.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Jesus H Christ, Jack, do I need a reason?”

Jack can’t get over how Kent won’t look him in the eyes. “No…but—”

“Good, listen, I will blow your brains out in exchange for this convo ending now,” Kent says.

“We’ve been having sex for almost two years, Kent,” Jack says tersely. “I’m just trying to figure out what the problem is.”

Kent shakes his head, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his knees. He won’t look at Jack. He doesn't move.

“Kenny,” Jack says as he reaches out to hold him.

He tenses when Jack pulls him to his chest. “Can we just—not do this?”

“You’re upset, we should talk about this,” Jack says.

“But we don’t have to,” he insists. “This isn’t about you. Just leave it alone.”

“If you’re hurting, I want to be there for you.”

Kent laughs wetly. “You didn’t used to ask, y’know? And I kept telling myself, I want this. I’ve always wanted this. It’s fine.”

Jack pales.

“Or, sometimes I’d think ‘it doesn’t matter what I want, this is about making him feel good’,” Kent says.

“That’s fucked up,” Jack admits.

Kent snorts. “You’re telling me.”

Jack kisses his shoulder. He hugs Kent a little tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Kent says.

“No, let me be,” Jack says quietly. “That’s never happening again.”

“Ok,” he agrees.

“Let’s do something else,” Jack suggests.

Kent smiles to himself. “Like what?”

“Order take out, watch that dumb movie you love.”

“Which one?”

“You know—”

“Say it or no deal,” Kent orders.

Jack sighs, suppressing a grin he knows Kent can feel against the back of his neck. “ _When Harry Met Sally_ , happy?”

Kent chuckles. “I’m getting there.”

Jack holds him a little tighter. It’s good enough for now.        

_/.\\_

2022

His agent is still working through contract negotiations. Regardless, Kent packed up his things in Boston. Some of Shits stuff went to his mom or Bitty. He shipped a few things to Jack because they were things from when Shitty was in college. He keeps a Knight jersey that Shitty stole his Junior year of college. He smirks, because that’s two Samwell jerseys for the back of his closet. He should really stop dating hockey players.

Nathan handled subletting his house, and surprisingly, it’s still intact.

He’s watching prospects run drills.

“Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” Kellen asks as she sits down next to him on the bleachers.

“No, Coach,” Kent sighs. “There’s no elephants around here. Just a bunch of rooks.”

“Kent, how long have we known each other?”

He squints. “Nine years?”

“So when are you going to stop pretending I can’t read you like I do all my other players?”

He sighs, “Yes ma’am.”

“What’s going on? What did Boston have that Vegas magically doesn’t?” She asks.

“You know why I went to Boston,” he mutters.

“I know, and I’m sorry. Some things—” she stops herself. “Anyway, that was two years ago. You can grieve for as long as you need to, but that’s not the problem.”

“Providence...got under my skin,” he admits.

Kellen crosses her arms. “Providence?”

“Zimmermann,” he says with a sigh.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her head turn, looking somewhere else.

“You’re in luck,” she says. “Providence came to see you.”

Kent gapes, his eyes narrowing.

“Kenny,” Jack says behind him.

Kellen stands up. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“What are you doing here?” Kent asks without facing him.

Jack sits on the other side of him. “You left.”

“Yea,” he says with a resigned nod.

“You sent me his shit and a letter.”

“I thought you wanted that stuff?”

“That’s not the point,” Jack hisses. “You said goodbye with a fucking letter. What century is this?”

“Sending a text seemed ironic,” Kent chirps.

“I thought—I don’t know what I thought,” Jack stammers.

“No.” Kent sighs, pivoting slightly toward him. “What did you think?”

“I thought we…I thought we were…”

“You can’t even say it, Jack,” Kent says.

“Together, ok?” he snaps.  “I thought we were together. Happy?”

Kent groans burying his face in his hands. “You think it was easy for me? Picking up and leaving like that?”

“Then why did you?”

“‘Cause I knew if you asked me to stay, I would’ve.” Kent scrubs his face. “It’s not fair, Jack. I keep—picking up my life for people who leave me. I have a life here. The Samwell gang are my friends, but these guys are my family.”

He doesn’t hear Jack protest. He keeps staring at his tennis shoes, hoping Jack will make this easier and just go. It’s the middle of summer. He’ll be turning thirty-one tomorrow and his life has felt like a perpetual ferris wheel ride. He’s always getting stuck just near the top before he starts spiraling down again. They sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Kenny,” Jack says. “Look at me.”

Despite every fiber of his being telling him not to, he does. Jack’s face is defined; he’s starting to get laugh lines. Kent was never sure he’d live to see that. But most importantly, he’s looking at Kent with these eyes that make him look sixteen again. It’s almost like they’re kids and fooling around for the first time. Like Jack knows what he wants, and everything is right in front of him.

“Give me a year,” Jack says.

Kent gawks. “And then what?”

“I’ll pick up my life for you,” he says.

“No, don’t do that,” Kent tells him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Jack cups his cheek, and Kent tries not to shiver.

“I can’t—” Kent cuts himself off.

“Can’t what?” Jack prompts.

“Love you like I did when we were kids,” he admits.

“I’m not asking you to,” Jack says. He leans in to kiss Kent’s nose. “Hate me like someone who fucked you up. Hate me like someone who couldn’t give your dead boyfriend the time of day.”

Kent snorts. “I can’t hate you all the time.”  

“Do you hate me?” he asks honestly.

“No,” Kent says with a sad smile. “Not the guy who decided to hatefuck me through New England, I love that asshole.”

“He loves you too,” Jack teases.

He leans closer to Kent, staring expectantly at his lips. Because Kent is a fool, or a romantic, or just hopelessly in love with someone he thought would never be right for him, he closes the gap between them. This kiss doesn’t feel like anger and friction before a hate fuck. Nor does it feel like the tentative peck of two queer kids who don’t know any better. It feels like fire engulfing every inch of his body. Like he’s still searching for the shy, chubby kid, or the eccentric lawyer who promised him a happy ending. But instead, he found another hockey player who maybe understands grief as well as he does.

Maybe he won’t get left this time.

“Can you do me a favor?” Kent murmurs.

He doesn’t say “anything” like Kent knows they do in movies. Because people can’t promise anything and mean it.

Instead, Jack says, “What?”   

“Next time you wanna be romantic...maybe don’t do it in front of my team?”

Kent points his thumb in the direction of the rookies, Ozzy, and Johnny who are wolf whistling at them. Jack chuckles, and it doesn’t make Kent’s heart ache like it used to.

“I think I can handle that,” he says.

That’s all Kent could ask of him.

**Author's Note:**

> fic title - lyrics from The Gold by Manchester Orchestra
> 
> Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://omgcpheartbreakfest.tumblr.com/) on the omgcpheartbreakfest tumblr page!


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